


I Blame the Adrenaline

by patster223



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: 5 Times, Alley Sex, Brett can't believe this is his life, Friends With Benefits, Identity Reveal, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-23
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-04-10 21:50:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4409135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patster223/pseuds/patster223
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s not like Brett Mahoney <em>means</em> to become friends-with-benefits with the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. It just sort of <em>happens</em>. </p><p>Now including chapter 3, in which Matt/Brett becomes Matt/Brett/Foggy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which Brett Kisses Daredevil

**Author's Note:**

> I jokingly said to [decadentmousse](http://archiveofourown.org/users/decadent_mousse/pseuds/decadent_mousse) that there should be more Brett/Matt fic and literally 2 seconds later I went "SHIT I actually really want this." So here it is XD Thanks as always to [the-oxford-english-fangeek](http://the-oxford-english-fangeek.tumblr.com/) for betaing and coming up with the title (all I could come up with was "Cop a Feel," which while puntastic, does not quite fit the plot of this fic).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 5 times Brett kisses Daredevil (+1 time he kisses Matt Murdock).

1.

  


Brett Mahoney is an officer of the law. He takes statements, apprehends criminals, and helps protect Hell’s Kitchen in whatever small way he can. Law, order, all that stuff: it’s his job to uphold it.

 _Nowhere_ in the job description does it say anything about making out with vigilantes. In fact, Brett’s pretty sure that’s the _opposite_ of what he’s supposed to be doing. It might not explicitly state in his employee handbook not to kiss the costumed types, but that shit is implied. And yet here he is, making out with _Daredevil_ of all people.

He should really, you know. Stop doing that. Break the kiss, maybe even arrest the hornhead – he’d be within his rights to try, with all the shit that Daredevil has pulled.

Except Daredevil keeps sucking and nipping at Brett’s bottom lip, which is making it _incredibly_ hard to think about things like law and order. Brett parts his mouth and lets Daredevil explore with his tongue, lets him lick and taste and suck until Brett’s knees shake.

“What. The hell,” Brett manages, when they finally come up for air.

“Um,” Daredevil says eloquently. It’s hard to get any sense of his facial expressions with the mask on, but he’s clearly as confused as Brett is about this whole thing. After Daredevil has opened and closed his mouth several times and _still_ not said a word, Brett figures it’s time for him to step in before the guy has an aneurysm. Which would be a kind of embarrassing way for a vigilante to go.

“Adrenaline,” Brett says firmly. “We nearly got the shit blown out of us by those explosives and – yeah. Adrenaline. Heat of the moment, you know? Doesn’t have to mean anything.”

Daredevil is very quick to nod along. “Yes. Just heat of the moment -- literally heat of the moment,” he says, inclining his head toward the flames that’d nearly killed them.

Brett groans. It’s a good thing that he broke that kiss. He should not be kissing violent vigilantes, but he _especially_ should not be kissing violent vigilantes who like _puns._

“I’m calling for backup,” Brett says. “O’Connor’s men have probably already fled the scene, but we need to check this place down for evidence. I assume you’re going to go hunt down O’Connor? You can’t just let us do it, huh?”

Daredevil shakes his head. “There’s no time to wait for procedure. I’m not letting those drugs stay on the street one more day than they have to.”

Daredevil leaps his way onto a rooftop – and really, what the fuck, who _does_ that – and Brett is left to wait for his backup, lips still warm and tingling from the heat of that kiss.

 

 

2.

  
Strangely enough, it’s not hard for Brett to put that kiss out of his mind. Like he said, adrenaline can make you do crazy things -- especially when there are vigilantes in skin-tight suits nearby. No need to dwell on it. And believe it or not, Brett’s had weirder kisses: Foggy Nelson in 7th grade gym class comes to mind.

So yeah, it’s easy enough for Brett to forget about the kiss. For a while.

But unfortunately, Brett is usually the first responder to Daredevil’s crime scenes, and those are the crime scenes where shit tends to go down. At the next one, he and Daredevil both nearly get shot by a lingering O’Connor enforcer, and well. Adrenaline must really fuck them both up, because as soon as Daredevil neutralizes the threat, he and Brett start _making out_ with each other again. Like that wasn’t a bad idea the _first_ time they did it.

Brett should _really_ stop this in its tracks. But instead he swipes his tongue against Daredevil’s teeth and Daredevil _moans_ into his mouth. The moan is needy and impatient, so unlike the man’s usual clipped orders.

The sound also goes straight to Brett’s dick. He swears Daredevil can tell too, because he actually _growls_ before deepening the kiss. Daredevil’s mouth is hot and ferocious against Brett’s, and _God,_ it’s all Brett can do just to keep up.

Rough, gloved hands come to rest at Brett’s wrists, pinning him to the warehouse door. Brett moans. He’s not usually into his partners being this aggressive, but he finds himself making an exception for Daredevil. Or, at least, his dick is making the exception. Which…is not a good enough reason to keep doing this.

Because there are a _million_ reasons why Brett should not be kissing Daredevil. Hell, ethical concerns aside, the guy wears a _devil_ costume. What, does Brett need an actual warning sign that says _Stay away, this guy is trouble?_

Brett shakes his head against Daredevil’s lips, and Daredevil immediately stops, releases Brett’s hands and steps away.

“Shit,” Daredevil breathes, and it’s…weird, how surprised – maybe even vulnerable, what does Brett know – the guy looks even with the creepy mask on.

“Shit,” Brett echoes. “What, do you kiss every first responder that’s with you when you’re all jacked up on adrenaline?”

“No, I- you’re the only one. I mean, um-”

Daredevil is actually _blushing_. Jesus Christ, that’s even stranger than the kissing. Brett guesses it’s not surprising though. Daredevil can probably see just as much as Brett can how _weird_ this whole thing is. How weird it is for the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen to accidentally talk like he’s in a romantic comedy: _you’re the only one._

Daredevil shuffles awkwardly, looking incredibly uncomfortable and not at all like the menacing symbol he’s supposed to be. God, Brett needs to intervene again before he actually dies of secondhand embarrassment.

“Adrenaline,” Brett reminds him. “Doesn’t have to mean anything.”

“Exactly,” Daredevil says, sighing in relief. “I didn’t mean it like- it just came out weird.”

“Good,” Brett says, sighing with relief himself. “Because no offense, DD, you’re good at fighting crime and all that, but I don’t exactly want to take you to meet my mom, you know? The prom pictures would be awkward as hell.”

Daredevil smirks, no doubt envisioning the prom photos that would include a masked vigilante.

Brett leaves him to it, and radios Central to let them know everything that happened – well, _almost_ everything. There are some things Brett’s precinct just doesn’t need to know about.

By the time he’s done, Daredevil’s left, and to be honest, Brett’s a bit relieved. He’s had some awkward “you’re great, but I’m not interested” conversations before, but this beat all of them by a _long_ shot.

 

 

3.

  


The third time Daredevil kisses him is a bit less fun. For one thing, he almost breaks Brett’s ribs, and for another, Brett isn’t even conscious for it. Both of these things are unfortunate, but Brett can’t help but think that the worst thing is that they ended up kissing again. _Damn_ , Brett had been really trying to avoid that.

He can’t even blame adrenaline either. Okay, maybe Daredevil has an adrenaline rush going on – giving CPR to a cop who’s just been pushed into a river by a drug dealer is probably pretty stressful – but Brett doesn’t. He’s just the guy alternating between hacking up river water and moaning.

“Who the hell gave you first aid lessons?” Brett groans, tentatively feeling his ribs. They throb and burn with every breath – maybe not broken, but _definitely_ bruised.

“I’ve never had any,” Daredevil says.

“What a surprise,” Brett says. “Okay then, for future reference: slamming your fists down on someone’s chest is _not_ the same thing as doing compressions.”

“It worked, didn’t it?”

“Pretty sure that was the mouth-to-mouth, but yeah. Thanks.”

Daredevil’s lips curl into a smile. “We have to stop meeting like this, or else we’ll actually have to give your mom those prom photos.”

Brett rolls his eyes, but can’t stop himself from chuckling, even if the action does aggravate the pain in his ribs. He’s glad Daredevil’s managed to find a sense of humor about the whole thing, at least. Might as well enjoy how weird the whole thing is, if it’s going to keep happening.

“Sure thing, Casanova,” Brett says. “I’m ready to break up when you are. Having my ribs broken by your self-taught CPR isn’t exactly _romantic._ The kiss was decent though.”

“It’s mouth-to-mouth,” Daredevil says. “Not kissing. They’re different.”

“Eh. You lingered a bit,” Brett says with a grin.

Teasing the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen is a truly surreal experience, and most people probably can’t get away with it without a couple of broken bones. But he’s actually rewarded for it when Daredevil snorts in response.

“I did not _linger_ ,” Daredevil chuckles.

“Whatever you say,” Brett shrugs. “Wouldn’t matter if you did, I suppose: what’s another kiss between friends, right?”

Daredevil’s smile freezes on his face when he suddenly stills. “You consider us friends?”

Oh God, Brett had thought they’d manage to avoid more awkward conversation this time. He shrugs again, and when he speaks, he keeps his words casual and even. Trying not to scare off the vigilante who is surprised that someone would consider him a friend.

“You bring me criminals, kiss me three times, and break my ribs: I figure I’ve earned the title.”

Daredevil presses a gentle hand on Brett’s waist, and despite the fact that Brett just coughed up half the Hudson, he finds his mouth going dry. Daredevil doesn’t seem to notice. He’s too busy doing that little head tilt that he does, like he’s concentrating on something really hard.

“Your ribs aren’t broken,” he says after a moment. “Just bruised.”

“You can tell if my ribs are broken just by feeling them up, huh? What, did you learn that the same place you learned CPR?” Brett says. Without intending to, he speaks softly. Daredevil’s hand is warm against his ribs, a beacon of heat that cuts through the icy water that soaks Brett’s skin.

Daredevil doesn’t answer, just tilts his head again and says, “Ambulance is on its way. Take care of yourself, Brett.”

It’s the first time Daredevil’s ever called Brett by his name, but before Brett can respond, Daredevil runs off. Probably to beat the shit out of some O’Connor goon, who even knows. Brett shivers, laments the absence of Daredevil’s body heat, and doesn’t hear the ambulance sirens until several minutes after the vigilante has left.

 

 

4.

  


There is no excuse the fourth time they kiss. Yeah, there’s adrenaline, but you don’t kiss someone _four_ times just because of that. At this point, Brett just has to be honest with himself: he’s attracted to the weirdo who wears a devil costume and beats people up. And apparently that weirdo is a bit attracted to _him_ too.

Foggy’s mom always said that Brett would’ve been a good butcher, and he’s beginning to wonder if he should have followed her advice. At least a butcher probably wouldn’t keep making out with Daredevil like this. And a butcher probably wouldn’t _like_ it this much when Daredevil presses him against a wall again.

“Pushy, are we?” Brett murmurs, when Daredevil breaks their kiss to suck languidly at Brett’s jaw.

“Only when I need to be,” Daredevil says, in between nipping and licking at Brett’s skin. And shit, Brett does _not_ want to have to explain this particular hickey to the boys at work.

“Stop marking me, you weirdo,” Brett says, lightly slapping Daredevil’s hip.

Daredevil groans at the touch – _okay,_ this is a kinky one, and Brett probably should have just guessed that given the costume. Daredevil makes a hungry sound, leans his face into Brett’s neck, and actually _sniffs_ him. Whatever floats his boat, Brett supposes.

“This is a pattern,” Daredevil sighs. His breath is warm against Brett’s skin. It’s enough of a contrast from the cool fall breeze to make Brett shiver.

“That unfortunately seems to be the case,” Brett says. “Adrenaline and red spandex are what do it for me, apparently.”

Daredevil leans back and frowns – well, more like _pouts_ , but hell if Brett is going to bring that up.

“It’s not spandex,” Daredevil protests. “I don’t – I don’t run around in spandex.”

Brett gets the feeling that this isn’t the first time that Daredevil’s had this conversation. He wonders who else Daredevil discusses his probably-not-spandex suit with.

Brett sighs and shifts slightly, intending to make some dumb comment and diffuse the apparently irresistible sexual tension they have going on. Except when he does shift, his hips accidentally brush against Daredevil’s and _shit._ That suit might not be spandex, but it might as well be for how well it conceals Daredevil’s hard on.

Daredevil chokes, trembles against Brett. “J-just adrenaline.”

“Of course,” Brett says, nodding fervently. “Just adrenaline-” He tries to move again, but when he does his hips lock perfectly against Daredevil’s and he thinks _oh fuck this._

“Screw it,” he groans. “I’m horny, I’m fucked up with adrenaline because I was almost shot by a drug lord five minutes ago, and you look good in spandex-- leather. Whatever it is. You want to do this?”

Daredevil cocks his head like an adorable, confused puppy. An adorable, confused puppy with a bloody lip he got from beating people up. Jesus, what is Brett’s life.

“Really?” Daredevil says.

Brett throws his hands up and nods, because at the end of the day, he really is a practical sort.

“Look, is it fucked up to want weird alley sex with you right now? Yeah. Yeah, it _really_ is. But my backup isn’t going to be here for at least ten minutes, and you’re not a bad kisser. I could think of worse one-night stands.”

Daredevil surges forward, knocking his bloody teeth against Brett’s in his haste to kiss him. Which. Is kind of gross, to be honest.

“This is _your_ blood, right?” Brett tries to clarify.

“I don’t _bite_ people,” Daredevil says, having the audacity to sound offended. Like beating people will billy clubs is so much higher on the morality scale than _biting_ people.

“Never know with you masked weirdos,” Brett says.

“I don’t bite. Well, not the people I fight anyway,” Daredevil says grinning, before tugging at Brett’s bottom lip with his teeth.

“Jesus,” Brett breathes into his mouth. “You’re some kind of sex demon, aren’t you? Daredevil in the streets _and_ the sheets?”

Daredevil laughs. He nips Brett’s lip one more time before reluctantly letting it slip from his teeth with a small _pop._

“Let’s find out,” he growls.

He positions himself against Brett again and slowly grinds onto him. Brett’s hips automatically jerk in response, his cock already aching for sensation.

Brett can’t imagine what kind of picture they make right now: Daredevil pinning his hands against the wall as they grind against each other. Their heavy breaths are the only noise that fills the alleyway as their movements grow more and more desperate. Even Daredevil’s tightly controlled breathing gives way to the occasional gasp and moan.

“More,” Daredevil says, his voice rumbling against Brett’s skin as he kisses him along his neck. Brett nods because yes, more sounds like an _excellent_ idea.

Daredevil peels a glove off with his teeth and reaches into Brett’s pants and _fuck._ Daredevil’s hands are as rough and unrelenting as the rest of him. He’s always struck Brett as a single-minded person, the way he fights, but now all of that focus is on _Brett._ It’s like he’s calculating the most efficient and brutal way to take him apart, twisting and stroking and palming Brett’s cock until Brett is gasping against his neck.

“Definitely a sex demon,” Brett manages to mutter.

Daredevil grins and kisses him again, fucking Brett’s mouth with his tongue while still stroking him, taking him apart on two fronts. It’s all Brett can do to fumble a hand into Daredevil’s pants – which are weird and have _way_ too many buckles surrounding them – to reciprocate. When he finally wraps a hand around Daredevil’s cock, it actually _twitches_ at the touch.

Brett raises an eyebrow. Looks like _this_ won’t take long. He starts a steady rhythm, kissing and panting into Daredevil’s mouth as they stroke each other. Daredevil’s hand begins to stutter and slow on Brett’s cock as Brett picks up the pace. It isn’t long before he’s actually _whining_ into Brett’s mouth, canting his hips desperately into Brett’s hand.

“You like that, huh?” Brett says, emboldened by Daredevil’s sudden display of want, of _need_. He gently flicks the head of Daredevil’s cock before giving him another hard stroke, and Daredevil makes a strangled moan.

“Christ,” Brett murmurs, “you look like you’re already about to come. Guess you don’t have much time to get off when you’re a vigilante by night, whatever by day. I could take you apart in minutes and I bet you wouldn’t even mind.”

Daredevil throws his head back and groans. His left hand twitches and trembles where it rests at Brett’s hip, and the other hand spasms clumsily on Brett’s cock. Daredevil moves his hips into Brett’s grip, biting his lip like he’s trying to keep from crying out. It only takes a few more strokes before Daredevil suddenly leans in and bites Brett’s shoulder _hard_ , letting the cloth muffle his cry as he comes.

“Woah,” Brett breathes.

“Woah,” Daredevil agrees. He takes only a few seconds to catch his breath before licking his way back into Brett’s mouth and moving his hand again. He works at a feverish pace, biting and nipping and sucking, all the while stroking Brett’s cock at a relentless pace. With a particularly harsh twist of Daredevil’s wrist, the pleasure building in Brett’s spine reaches a breaking point, and he gasps into Daredevil’s mouth as he comes.

“Fuck,” he says, trying to remember how it feels to breathe normally. He’s sure he knew how to do it at some point, but he seems to have forgotten the precise method.

“T-that was the idea,” Daredevil says, giving him a goofy little grin.

Fuck. Fuck, Daredevil loves bad jokes and puns, and Brett is _still_ attracted to him. This is so typical. Brett has historically bad taste in friends, and even worst taste in friends-with-benefits. See: Foggy Nelson once upon a time, and now, apparently, _Daredevil_.

“We probably shouldn’t do that again,” Brett says, tucking himself away. ‘I mean, that was damn good and I can’t say I mind if it happens again, but…we probably _shouldn’t_ do it again.”

“Definitely not,” Daredevil says, before leaning in to kiss Brett. It’s a bit slower, a bit sweeter now that they’ve exchanged the rush of adrenaline for the bliss of an afterglow. It’s nice. Still doesn’t mean that Brett should make a vigilante his fuck buddy, but it’s nice.

Daredevil eventually hears sirens and backflips away to wherever it is vigilantes go when they’re not beating people up or giving handjobs in an alleyway. Jesus, Brett just got a handjob from Daredevil in an alley.

He touches his lips. They still feel like they’re vibrating with warmth and sensation. And in about two minutes he’ll have be a cop and make arrests and pretend that he didn’t just fuck the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, and-

 _Shit_ , Brett really has bad taste in fuck buddies.

 

 

5\. (+1)

  


He and Daredevil don’t see each other for awhile after that. Brett doesn’t take it personally: they only interact at crime scenes, and now that Daredevil finally broke up the O’Connor’s drug ring, there have been a lot fewer of those.

It’s probably for the best. Brett was right when he said that they really _shouldn’t_ have sex again.

But the memory of their last encounter _lingers,_ snaps at Brett’s stray thoughts like a particularly annoying puppy. And after a week of pointedly _not_ jerking off to the memory of that night, Brett finally gives and touches himself remembering Daredevil’s gasps and moans, his rough hands, his blunt teeth tugging at Brett’s bottom lip.

It’s not like it’s a pining thing. Brett feels gratitude, friendship, and lust toward the vigilante and that’s about it. Yeah, his dick might want Daredevil, but his heart saw the horns and said _no thanks_ real quick.

But Brett is still having trouble getting over his weird fuck buddy lust, so when Foggy Nelson of all people invites him to drinks – probably setting him up for another bribe, damn it – Brett finds himself accepting. He could use the distraction.

The rest of Foggy’s little firm is there: Murdock and Page. Page is kind, if a bit nervous around him. Murdock, on the other hand, seems both nervous _and_ unkind. He only mumbles a greeting to Brett before determinedly ignoring him for the rest of the night.

Which, whatever. Murdock’s always been a bit weird. Hell, their whole _firm_ is a trio of weirdos.

A trio of weirdos who _really_ like drinking. Brett’s thinks that they probably should not ever drink unsupervised – or maybe just not _drink_ – because it’s not long before they’re unsteady and giggling.

Of course, Brett’s a bit unsteady himself, but he has good reason to be. Nelson’s the one buying the drinks.

“Matt Murdock,” Foggy says grandly, wrapping his arm around his partner, “is an amazing kisser. Like, _amazing_.”

Page snorts into her beer. “Wait, when have you two been _kissing_?”

“Looks like I won the office pool,” Brett mutters.

“It was _one time_ , in college,” Murdock clarifies. He playfully shoves Foggy away, but Foggy’s had enough beers that even _that_ nearly knocks him down.

“Hey!”

“Sorry,” Murdock says absently, and Brett wonders whether he could hear Foggy almost falling over.

“So? What’s the story?” Page says, grinning now that she’s caught the scent of some new gossip on her bosses.

“There is no story,” Murdock says, with a dopey little smile that means that _whatever_ that non-story is, he remembers it fondly. “Apparently I was a handsome, wounded duck and Foggy just couldn’t resist.”

“He couldn’t resist _me_ ,” Foggy protests. “We couldn’t resist _each other_. We were also incredibly drunk and couldn’t even get it up, but that _kiss-_ ”

“This is really more than I need to know, Foggy,” Brett says. Partially because it really _is_ more than he needs to know. But also because Murdock may be a bit standoffish, but he probably doesn’t need Brett and his secretary hearing about his drunken exploits. Let alone his drunken exploits with _Nelson._

“You don’t understand, Brett. It was _such_ a good kiss,” Foggy says. Suddenly, he slaps his hand against the table, startling all of them except Murdock, who just continues to sit there and smile.

“Matt!” Foggy says. “You have to kiss Brett. He has to _know._ Wait, first you have to kiss Karen. Karen, do you want to know what a good kisser Matt is?”

Karen rolls her eyes. “I’m not going to kiss _Matt_ , Foggy.”

Which doesn’t _exactly_ answer Foggy’s question, but at least she’s smart enough not to get involved with these two knuckleheads.

“Alright then, just Brett it is!” Foggy says. “Go on, Matt, kiss him.”

“Brett doesn’t want to kiss me, Foggy,” Murdock says, his cheeks pinking as he clumsily reaches for his drink.

Foggy frowns. “Why wouldn’t he want to kiss you?”

Brett still can’t quite believe that these two aren’t together. He sighs. “Foggy, are you going to let go of this if we don’t kiss?”

“I never let anything go,” Foggy declares. Then, with a nervous glance at a suddenly melancholy Murdock, he hastily adds, “I mean, of course I let _some_ things go. I let things go all the time. But only big things. And this is a small thing, and I’m drunk, so nope, definitely not letting it go.”

Brett snorts. “Anything to make him shut up. Don’t let this guy bully you into it, but I’m down if you’re down, Murdock.”

“Really?” Murdock says, fiddling with his sleeve. “You sure?”

“Couldn’t hurt.”

“Okay,” Murdock breathes.

Murdock has been ignoring him all night, but now that he’s forced to interact with Brett, he’s suddenly red in the face and twitchy. He must _really_ be drunk. This is what happens when you go drinking with Foggy Nelson.

Brett shakes his head, leans forward, and gives Murdock a quick peck.

Or, it’s _supposed_ to be a quick peck. But as soon as their lips touch, Murdock _melts_ into the kiss and begins returning it with fervor. Foggy’s right – Murdock is an _amazing_ kisser. Brett imagines that this must be what Murdock is like in the courtroom: focused and precise and passionate. Murdock licks his way into Brett’s mouth like he’s dying for it, nipping at his lips and leaning eagerly into the kiss like, like he’s-

Like he’s someone else who Brett’s been kissed by recently.

Matt tugs on Brett’s bottom lip with his teeth, and Brett is so suddenly thrust back to that night in the alley that he jerks away.

“Damn, you both _really_ liked that,” Foggy says, and Karen is cheering in the background, but Brett ignores them both. For the first time that night, Murdock owns all of his attention.

Brett squints at him, thinks _it couldn’t be_ for about two seconds, and then lifts his hand so that it’s covering the top half of Murdock’s face.

Shit. Shit fucking Jesus Christ _shit._

Matt’s mouth falls open in a small, terrified ‘o,’ like he can see what Brett’s doing. Which would make sense, if he’s actually Daredevil. If _Murdock_ is the one who Brett had sex with in an alley – _fucking Christ,_ Brett had sex in an alley with _Matt Murdock._

Brett tells himself that he has to be wrong, but with his hand covering Murdock’s eyes, he finally realizes that he _knows_ that stubble, that chin, those lips. He’s _kissed_ those lips.

“Thanks for the beers, Foggy, but I should be heading out,” Brett says, making his way out the door before Foggy can protest _too_ loudly.

Only moments after he steps outside, he hears the tap of a cane behind him. He sighs. Guess they really _couldn’t_ avoid this conversation, could they?

“You,” he says, turning around and pointing his finger at Murdock. “ _You’re_ him?”

“I’m who, Brett?” Murdock says, raising an eyebrow. But he’s not fooling Brett with that calm-and-collected bullshit. Brett can see how nervously he plays with the strap of his cane, how Murdock hides a stutter with clipped, careful words.

Brett makes sure that there’s no one else around, leans in, and whispers, “You know… _Daredevil_.”

“I-I’m not _Daredevil_.” Murdock plays with his cane strap some more and _oh God,_ Murdock is totally Daredevil.

Brett wants to bang his head against the wall. How the fuck Murdock graduated law school is beyond him: he’s a terrible liar.

“Would make a lot of sense if you were,” Brett says. “Would explain the bruises you’ve always got. How you and Foggy are so tight with Daredevil.”

“Yes, and there are also plenty of other explanations for those things,” Murdock says.

“Yeah, there are. But none of them _quite_ explain why you and Daredevil kiss, look, and _talk_ the same.”

Murdock starts to speak again, and Brett sighs.

“Look,” he says. “If you _really_ think you can convince me otherwise – if you have a reasonable excuse for every one of those things – then keep going. But if you’re about to BS me, don’t even start. I don’t know if you noticed, Murdock, but you don’t exactly disguise your voice that much.”

Murdock bites his lip, seems to debate something, and then finally slumps. “You never seemed to notice.”

“Yeah, well, sue me for not suspecting the blind guy of being a vigilante.”

Murdock’s shoulders tense. He looks ready to fight. In that moment, it’s not Murdock the defense attorney who stands in front of Brett, but Daredevil. Or whatever weird amalgam those two personas form inside Matt Murdock.

Brett himself can’t quite reconcile those two personas. One politely asks for Brett’s assistance looking up police records, defends criminals, and probably helps old ladies cross the street. And the other beats the shit out of people, saves Brett from drowning, and has sex with Brett in an alleyway.

Both of them seem to like kissing Brett, so at least there’s _one_ similarity between them that Brett can cling to.

Brett rubs at his forehead. “Why me? You could probably have anyone you want as Matt Murdock. Hell, you could probably get some people as Daredevil too. There’s gotta be some nutcases with a costume fetish out there. Why me?”

“It’s a reaction to adrenaline, like you said,” Murdock says, shifting where he stands. Clearly _not_ a fan of this conversation and yeah, join the club, Murdock. “Usually I just don’t do anything about it, but...you were there, and I trusted you, and it’s...hard, finding someone I can trust.”

Murdock shrugs. “These are all rationalizations that came later. I can’t say I was thinking through it that much, when it happened.”

“Clearly,” Brett says, because yeah, Murdock doesn’t seem to have the whole “thinking” part down when it comes to being Daredevil. “This is really fucked up, you know. All of it is. You’re _Daredevil,_ Christ.”

Murdock’s jaw tightens. “Are you going to turn me in, Sargent? I should remind you that you don’t have any proof.”

“Could make a judge kiss you and Daredevil, see what they think,” Brett quips. “But no…I don’t have proof, Murdock.”

Murdock doesn’t relax in the slightest at Brett’s words. Of course he doesn’t. Hyper-vigilant vigilante fucker.

 _“_ Murdock-- _Matt_ ,” Brett corrects himself. He takes a step toward Murdock, hopes that the action doesn’t make him bolt. “You know, even if I did have proof, I doubt I’d turn you in. I believed in Daredevil, even before all... _this_.”

Murdock seems to understand that _this_ encompasses _befriending, kissing, and having discreet alley-sex with a vigilante._ He nods. “So what now?”

“I don’t know. I thought my thing with DD was bad, but this is even worse than I thought.”

“Yeah?” Murdock says quietly.

“Yeah. Because, you see, not only did I have mind-blowing sex with a vigilante, I had mind-blowing sex with a _defense attorney_. What would the boys at the 15 th think?”

Murdock laughs, and the sound is full of simultaneous relief and surprise. “That is- that’s pretty bad. Your good reputation at the precinct could be tarnished if they found out.”

“Don’t I know it,” Brett says. He clears his throat. “You know. This is still fucked up, and it’s still a bad idea. But…shit. I meant what I said in the alley: I wouldn’t mind doing it again. The whole mind-blowing sex thing.”

Murdock cocks his head. “Really?”

It’s just like the “really?” Murdock breathed in the bar just minutes ago. Like Murdock can’t quite imagine people actually meaning those words. Shit, this guy has issues. And Brett is apparently gearing himself up to get right in the middle of them.

He always was shit at choosing fuck buddies.

“At some point, you’re going to have to explain all this Daredevil stuff to me,” Brett says. “We might as well sandwich that conversation with sex if we want to make it at all bearable.”

Murdock pauses for a long moment, contemplating Brett’s words.

“No adrenaline this time,” he notes.

“Nope. A lot of alcohol though, so we’ll have to wait for you to sober up actually. But I figure the mind-blowing sex won’t be any less mind-blowing if we wait a few hours.”

“I don’t- I’m not looking for anything romantic,” Murdock says carefully. “I don’t really do that. And when I do, it doesn’t really work out.”

“Well that’s a relief, because I don’t want any of that,” Brett says. “I know better than to fall for a guy like you, Murdock: you’re trouble. I get plenty of that in my day job. But…I considered Daredevil a friend, which I guess means you’re a friend too. I could do worse than being friends-with-benefits with a defense attorney. Not _much_ worse mind you, but what can I say: red spandex really turns me on.”

“It’s not spandex,” Murdock chuckles. His smile is a little tight – Brett’s words probably ring truer than he knows – but Murdock’s shoulders finally lose their tension. He seems relaxed again, for the first time Brett’s seen since -- well, since Brett gave him a hand job in an alleyway.

Damn, their lives were weird.

“Sure, whatever,” Brett says. “You can tell me all about how not-spandex-y it is while you’re blowing my mind, okay, Murdock?”

Murdock smiles, leans forward and kisses him again. It’s tinged with sweetness and alcohol, but at the heart of it, the kiss is still what they’ve all been: open-mouthed and wet and _hungry._

“Sounds good to me,” Murdock says when he finally breaks the kiss.

Brett can’t help but be a bit dazed as he tries to find air again. Murdock might actually be the end of him.

This is probably what he gets for having Daredevil as a fuck buddy. Brett can’t bring himself to regret it though, as he guides Murdock back to his apartment to sober him up, talk it out, and yes: eventually have weird, no doubt kinky, vigilante sex.

Brett sure does how to choose them.

 

 


	2. In Which Foggy Finds Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Foggy finds out that Brett and Matt are friends-with-benefits. And isn’t _that_ just a conversation that Brett never wanted to have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone commented on the last chapter asking for a follow-up where Foggy finds out, and the image made me laugh so much that I couldn't resist *grins* Thanks again to [the-oxford-english-fangeek](http://the-oxford-english-fangeek.tumblr.com/) for the quick beta.

Most of the time when they have sex, Matt – Matt, not Murdock, and when the hell did that happen? – wears the Daredevil costume. They don’t _plan_ it like that or anything. It’s just that Matt usually only gives Brett a booty-call when he’s all hopped up on adrenaline after being Daredevil.

So yeah. They have sex in the costume a lot. And damn if Brett isn’t aware of how kinky and weird _that_ is.

“Do you want me to take it off then?” Matt says with a grin. Brett can’t tell if it’s a snarky come-on, or an actual display of courtesy. And doesn’t _that_ just sum up his relationship with Matt Murdock.

“Yes—no. Fuck you, Murdock,” Brett says, when Matt starts breathing little chuckles against his neck. “You’re the one who wears this kinky shit in the first place.”

“It’s not kinky,” Matt says, in between nipping lightly at Brett’s skin. “It’s built to protect me. The effect it has on certain police officers is a pleasant but unforeseen side effect.”

“Most police officers want to punch you in the face actually,” Brett points out.

Matt shrugs, a sort of _what can you do?_ motion. “Do you want me to take it off or not?”

“Oh—do whatever you want. Keep the spandex – or polysilicate _whatever_ it is,” he adds, before Matt can correct him, “on or take it off, I don’t care. Just touch me, alright?”

Matt does just that without any further protest. See, _this_ is what Brett likes about their arrangement. It’s simple, it’s efficient. This is just sex for both of them, so they can afford to be direct about the whole thing.

And yeah, maybe the costume does a little something for him too. So sue him – Matt wears it well. And besides, for the first time in his life Brett knows defense attorneys he actually likes who could defend him in court.

No, the problem is that Matt _knows_ that he wears it well. He knows that when he lets go of Brett’s cock to sinks to his knees, the sight is enough to send Brett’s heart rate skyrocketing.

Matt unzips Brett’s pants and rubs his face against the boxers, growling against the cotton fabric. Jesus Christ. There’s a bruise forming around Matt’s chin, he’s high from adrenaline, and he’s looking for sensation and finding it with _Brett_ of all people. It’s times like these that Brett applauds himself for choosing this man as his friend-with-benefits.

And then Matt suddenly pulls Brett out of his boxers and swallows half of his cock in one go.

“You really are straight from hell, aren’t you?” Brett chokes, squeezing Matt’s shoulders so that he can resist the urge to thrust his hips into that mouth. Though Matt would probably like that, kinky fucker.

Matt pulls off so that his lips are only touching the tip of Brett’s cock. When he speaks, they lightly brush against Brett, giving him only an agonizing whisper of sensation. “No. I’m clearly bisexual from hell.”

Brett groans. “You’re lucky you look good, Murdock, because your puns are _not_ attractive.”

Matt hums, licking thoughtfully at the head of Brett’s cock.

“Your heart rate would suggest otherwise,” he comments, before putting his mouth around Brett again and- _fuck yes,_ Brett can forgive puns if he gets to have this.

It’s like all of their other encounters: fast, dirty, and, to be honest, a little bit sloppy. Brett imagines that Matt has more finesse when he’s not exhausted from running around rooftops, but whatever. It doesn’t really matter. Not when Matt bobs so eagerly around Brett’s cock, licking and sucking until Brett’s trembling. He moves in a relentless rhythm that has Brett panting and grabbing at Matt’s hair, the latter action only fueling Matt’s enthusiasm, and it’s not long before Brett warns, “I’m gonna— _shit_ , yeah -- gonna come.”

Matt already _knows_ this, of course – fucking super senses – and has already pulled off, but Brett thinks that he appreciates the courtesy.

Afterward, Brett catches his breath while Matt sits on his knees with a satisfied smirk on his face.

“Bisexual from hell,” Brett mutters. He pulls Matt to his feet and then pushes him toward the couch. Matt goes eagerly, and is soon supine and stretched out in all his sweaty, fucked up vigilante glory.

Brett kisses him, because, well, because he can and because Matt makes _sweaty fucked up vigilante_ work for him. The kiss is a bit desperate, has a bit too much biting for Brett’s taste. Brett nips sharply at Matt’s lip in warning, and Matt whines at the action.

“I-I want-” Matt gasps, and Brett nods.

“Hands, mouth—something else?”

“Hands,” Matt says immediately.

Brett reaches into Matt’s pants and starts to take him apart quickly and efficiently, with a calloused palm and rough twists of his hand.

Matt throws his head back against the couch and breathes, “ _Yes,_ ” keeps saying it as Brett moves his hand harder and faster. Matt’s cries are something beautiful: they break and rumble and crescendo as if his voice were an entire orchestra. By the time he comes, Matt’s shouts are probably loud enough to wake his neighbors.

Which, hey, is Matt’s problem, not Brett’s. Brett deals with enough of Matt’s issues without adding _annoyed neighbors_ to the list.

Matt sighs and stretches out on the couch, but graciously lifts his legs so that Brett can sit in the corner. Brett props his feet up on the coffee table and Matt props his feet up on Brett.

“Get your boots off before you do that at least,” Brett says, shoving Matt’s feet off of him. “Probably getting dirt on me. Or blood, knowing you.”

Matt rolls his eyes, but lazily reaches down to take off his boots. He lifts one to his nose, sniffs it. “No blood.”

“Oh really?”

“…Not much blood.”

“Exactly.”

Matt leaves the boots on the floor and goes back to lying on the couch, feet staying on his side of it this time. He yawns. Normally they might chat a bit before Brett leaves – _not_ about their jobs, because Brett does not want to get into that little conflict of interest more than he has too – but he takes the yawn as a cue to go. Or, he tries to before Matt speaks up again.

“We have to tell Foggy,” Matt says into the couch pillow.

Brett sits back down. “Tell him what? He already knows that we have sex.”

Which is unfortunate, but true. Maybe Foggy can’t _literally_ smell sex from a mile away like Matt can, but he can sniff out when two people are screwing. Last week, Foggy and Matt came down to the precinct, and literally within five minutes of Matt and Brett talking – not even chatting, but talking about _cold case files_ – Foggy declared that they were having sex.

And then loudly proclaimed himself a genius for making them kiss at the bar. The smug son of a bitch.

“I mean we have to tell him that you, you know,” Matt says, waving his hand vaguely, still a bit too blissed out for coherent words, and damn if Brett doesn’t feel a bit smug about that. “ _Know_.” Matt frowns to himself and adds, “About Daredevil.”

Brett scratches at the back of his neck. “You sure? It was bad enough telling him about the sex.”

“To be fair, he found out about that,” Matt says. He sighs, moves his face out from the pillow so that he can look Brett in the eye. Or look Brett in the mouth. Either way, he’s clearly trying to convey sincerity, so Brett lets him talk.

“That’s the problem,” Matt continues. “He keeps finding out things about me instead of me just _telling_ him. It was—it was bad enough when he found out about me being Daredevil. I can’t…I can’t do that to him again. He’d want to know this.”

Brett sighs. “Then you should probably tell him. Though I do wonder exactly how you plan on letting him know. Because I know _I’m_ not looking forward to telling Foggy Nelson about my alley-sex adventures with Daredevil.”

Matt shrugs. “We just leave out that detail. And…most of the other details. Say that you found out through your brilliant detective work.”

“I’m going to pretend that you’re being completely genuine right now,” Brett mutters. He may not be a detective yet, but he’s the only cop on the force who knows who Daredevil is, so fuck you, Murdock.

“I am being genuine.”

“Doesn’t matter if you are -- Foggy will still know that you’re lying. You know him, Matt,” Brett warns. “You know he’s going to push. He can sense it when things are about sex, and he doesn’t need to be hit in the face with a bunch of chemicals to do it.”

Matt bites his lip. “You might be right.”

“Big of you to admit.”

“We might have to tell him about the…the _thing_.”

“You mean the ‘thing’ where we gave each other hand jobs in an alleyway because you like to dress up in costume and get jacked up with adrenaline? Yeah, probably.”

Matt groans. “This is going to be awful.”

Of course it’s going to be awful. It’s going to be _terrible._ Brett has to tell his former friend-with-benefits that he hooked up with his current friend-with-benefits while the latter was flipping around in a devil costume.

Damn it, Murdock. Brett’s life used to be so simple before all this.

 

***

 

As it turns out, Matt and Brett don’t have to figure out how to tell Foggy, because Matt’s worse nightmare actually comes true: Foggy finds out for himself.

Jesus, Matt Murdock’s life is a train wreck. Brett knew being fuck buddies with him would be complicated, but he’s still not sure why he signed up for _this_ shit.

Probably because before Foggy popped into Matt’s apartment, they’d been having _mind-blowing_ sex, but whatever. Still not a good enough reason to get involved with this guy’s drama.

“Fuck,” Matt hisses, when Brett’s got _him_ pressed up against the wall for once.

“What, don’t like it when the tables are turned, Murdock?” Brett says, before nipping at Matt’s bottom lip.

Matt doesn’t respond like he normally would, just shakes his head and pushes Brett away. “No, stop. You have to go, Foggy is-”

“Matt!” Foggy calls from the hallway. Speak of the devil – or, maybe just if Daredevil speaks of the devil. Matt seems to have terrible luck when it comes to this sort of thing.

“Yeah?” Matt calls. “Now’s not- not a great time, Foggy.”

“Oh yeah? Because I saw yo- uh, _Daredevil_ on the news, and he looked beat up pretty bad. So, you know, for completely unrelated reasons, I’ve stopped by to check on you.”

“Oh, he’s _real good_ at keeping your secret,” Brett whispers. “I can’t believe I didn’t catch on earlier.”

Matt groans and lets his head knock against the wall with a loud thump.

Unfortunately, this only causes Foggy to pause and say, “You don’t sound so good, buddy. Sure you’re okay?”

“Say yes,” Brett hisses.

Matt runs a hand through his hair. “He’s already pulling out his key. You could hide in the bedroom?”

Before Brett has time to explain how _not_ cool he is with being asked to hide in the bedroom while Matt and Foggy bro it up for a few hours, Foggy walks in. Which at least relieves Brett of the burden of _that_ conversation.

Unfortunately, it also means that Brett is going to have _this_ conversation, which is probably going to be as bad.

Brett doesn’t have to deal with this. He really doesn’t. He could go to a bar, he could pick up someone nice and normal, and not have to worry about being caught with his pants down with Daredevil.

And dear God, Brett wishes he didn’t mean that last bit literally. But Brett’s pants are somewhere in the kitchen, so he’s just going to deal with this conversation half-naked.

At least he wore his nice boxers today.

Foggy’s jaw drops the moment he sees them. He looks at Brett, then Matt, then Brett’s boxers, then Matt’s costume – at least the mask is off, thank God. Finally, Foggy says, “Please tell me this is weird superhero roleplay.”

“It’s, ah. It’s not,” Matt says, fiddling with his glove.

Foggy sighs. “I was afraid you’d say that. Because _that_ means you’re actually screwing Brett while wearing the Daredevil costume.”

“Foggy, I can explain-”

“Explain what, Matt?” Foggy says wearily. “That I had to find out you were Daredevil, but you just _tell_ Brett? You tell your fuck buddy that you’re Daredevil just so that the two of you can have weird vigilante sex?”

Matt winces. “It kind of…happened the other way around.”

 _Wow._ Who left Matt in charge of this conversation? Oh yeah, that was Brett. Because he’s a moron and thought that Matt’s articulate lawyer persona bled over into his actual personality.

Brett looks heavenward. Maybe if he gets lucky aliens will invade again, and they’ll take him away from what is probably the most awkward moment of his life: and that’s including the first time Daredevil kissed him. And that one time Foggy kissed him.

Why does Brett associate himself with these two again?

Foggy’s mouth falls open. He blinks, like he’s still trying to process the information Matt just gave him.

“No,” he says finally. “No way.”

“Foggy-”

“ _No._ You _didn’t_!”

Brett sighs. This conversation isn’t going anywhere with Matt at the reigns. “I hate to say it, but yeah, we did,” he says. “Then we kissed at the bar, and I found out who he was, and we decided to keep it going.”

Foggy puts his hands in his hair. “But how did it happen in the _first_ place? You only ever see him on rooftops and alleyways and-” Matt winces – damn you, Murdock, learn to hide your tells – and Foggy stops in his tracks.

“Oh my God,” Foggy groans. “ _Really?_ Okay, 1) that is not sanitary, and I kind of hate you both for putting me in the position where I need to mother hen you about safe sex. I should be _having_ safe sex: not worrying about whether you two are using condoms and not _doing things in alleyways._ And 2) I am uncomfortably turned on by this mental image, and I’m just going to just go ahead and blame Matt for that.”

Brett snorts. “Yeah, join the club, Foggy.”

Foggy ignores him. “So he found out. He’s in _our_ crappy Daredevil club now. Okay, good. Great, actually – you need as many people on your team as you can get, Matt. But you weren’t going to tell me about it?”

“I was,” Matt says earnestly. “Foggy, I was going to tell you, I swear. I…”

“He’s not lying,” Brett says. Matt’s panicked and can’t focus on what part of the conversation to track when he’s panicked, so it looks like it’s just up to Brett to point out the facts.

“Look, Foggy, I get that you’re mad, but Matt trusts you -- even if he can’t show it that well. We were just talking the other day about how he was going to tell you that I knew. Alright?”

Foggy stares at Brett for a moment and then nods. He drops his arms to his sides. “Okay,” he says. “Alright, we’re good. Wait, no we’re not-” Foggy points at Brett. “You _seriously_ hooked up with DD? While he was wearing the horns and everything?”

“What can I say, he’s a real charmer,” Brett says drily. “Come on, Foggy, you’ve kissed him before.”

“Yeah,” Foggy says, actually grinning a bit at the memory. “Yeah, okay, I could see how that would reel you in. _Maybe._ But the _horns_. The _spandex_.”

“It’s not _spandex,_ ” Matt says under his breath, like he can’t really believe this is his life. How the tables have turned, Murdock.

“You lied by omission about using your dashing vigilante image to screw with poor innocent cops like Brett here,” Foggy says, suddenly _delighted_ now that he has something over Matt. Yeah, he hasn’t changed a bit. “I get to call it whatever I _want_.”

“Foggy,” Matt groans.

Brett grins. “Maybe this isn’t such a bad club to be in after all.”

Foggy holds his hand over his heart in mock surprise. “Why Brett – is this a truce I sense between us?”

“Not a chance in hell,” Brett says. “Not until you stop giving my mom cigars.”

Yeah, like that’s going to happen. So no truce, but Brett finds that he actually means it: he likes this little club they’re in. It’s illegal, dangerous, and full of way more drama than he needs in his life, but it’s comfortable. It feels like routine, sitting on the couch with Matt and Foggy, drinking Matt’s beer and making fun of the Daredevil costume until Matt’s ears turn pink.

Then Foggy leaves for the night, saying that he needs time to sleep and block out the mental image of them screwing around together. And Brett and Matt kiss and fuck until they’re sated and sleepy, and then Brett crashes in Matt’s bed, and that feels routine too.

So yeah, Brett’s still pretty bad at choosing fuck buddies, but he likes to think he’s gotten a bit better at choosing friends.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "I'm bisexual from hell" line came from [this post](http://patster223.tumblr.com/post/124921452470/unnecessaryligatures-matt-murdock-just) that made me cackle and immediately think of Matt Murdock XD


	3. In Which Foggy Makes Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Alright,” Brett says. “Alright. I’m listening. I’m_ skeptical, _but I’m listening. Just keep your fingers moving, okay? I need something to distract me from the fact that I’m actually considering a threesome with Foggy Nelson.”_
> 
> In which Matt/Brett becomes Matt/Brett/Foggy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple people asked if Matt/Brett/Foggy would be a thing after the last chapter, and I was immediately like "oh crap, now I want _this_ too." 5000 words later, here we are. Someday Brett pov will let me be free, but it is not this day. Eternal thanks as always to [the-oxford-english-fangeek](http://the-oxford-english-fangeek.tumblr.com/) for betaing.

“What if Foggy were to have sex with us?”

Brett’s orgasmic gasp turns into a cough, and he nearly chokes on his own spit. _Not_ the sexiest thing to have ever happened to him in bed. He tries to catch his breath, but his wheezing nearly forces Matt’s fingers out of him, and yeah, this is _really_ not sexy anymore.

“Foggy?” Brett repeats, once he’s able to speak again.

“Yes.”

“As in Foggy _Nelson._ ”

Matt smirks as he crooks the fingers he has inside Brett. Okay, maybe it’s a _little_ bit sexy again. But only because Matt looks so damned pleased to see -- hear, smell, _whatever_ \-- Brett like this: squirming and panting under his touch.

“Do you know another Foggy that I want to have sex with?” Matt says.

Brett rolls his eyes. “ _Everyone_ knows you and Foggy want to have sex with each other. I was only half-kidding about the betting pool at the precinct.”

Matt’s fingers stop moving. A small smile spreads across his lips. It’s the kind of slow, happy smile that only grows bigger the longer Brett watches it until it’s a full-on grin that seems to emanate its own heat, it’s own energy like it’s some kind of sun. Brett doesn’t see that smile often, but when he does, it’s usually around Foggy.

“Foggy wants to have sex with me?” Matt breathes. “You know that for sure?”

“Well, he didn’t tell me, if that’s what you mean, but yeah, he does. He’s more than a bit in love with you -- guessing you feel the same,” Brett says. He runs a hand through the tips of Matt’s hair, grinning when Matt unconsciously leans into the movement. “Thought you said you usually don’t do romance.”

“‘Usually,’ is the key word.”

“Fair enough,” Brett says. “Still doesn’t explain why you want me involved though. We’re not together, you know. It’s okay if you want to break this off to be with Foggy.”

Brett means it too. Would he miss having sex with Matt? _Christ_ yes. The man moonlights as a vigilante and has more issues than Brett knows how to deal with, but he is a _damn_ good lay. But at this point, he’s also a good friend. So if Matt wants to lose the ‘benefits’ part of their friends-with-benefits arrangement to be with someone he loves...eh, Brett can deal.

But surprisingly enough, Matt doesn’t take the out. He just shakes his head slowly, bites his lip. Finally, he says, “I don’t think I want that.”

Brett leans his head against the headboard, thankful that they managed to make it to the bed this time. Having this conversation on the couch -- or against a wall -- would’ve been hell.

“You’re serious?” Brett says. “You really want to ask Foggy if he wants to have sex with _both_ of us?”

“Y-yeah.” Matt nods firmly. “Yes.”

“Alright,” Brett says. “Alright. I’m listening. I’m _skeptical_ , but I’m listening. Just keep your fingers moving, okay? I need something to distract me from the fact that I’m actually considering a threesome with Foggy Nelson.”

Matt presses a rough kiss to Brett’s thighs. He moves his fingers again, twisting and turning them inside Brett, teasing at his prostate before darting away: all of it in a steady, relentless rhythm. Matt apparently takes his job as a distraction _quite_ seriously.

“I don’t understand why you’re skeptical,” Matt says. His lips vibrate against Brett’s thighs as he speaks. “You are Foggy are attracted to each other, aren’t you?”

Brett points a finger at Matt, and tries not to feel ridiculous when it trembles a little. Shut up, Murdock is _good_ at sex, okay?

“Stop listening to our heartbeats,” Brett says. “Or smelling our sweat or _whatever_ it is you do. Foggy and I both told you not to do that, it’s creepy.”

“Sighted people use their eyes to tell when people are attracted to each other. I just use my other senses,” Matt protests. “It’s not that different.”

“You listening to blood flowing to my junk is _very different_ ,” Brett insists. “I cannot emphasize how different that is.”

Matt huffs and adds a third finger in response. Which, hey, isn’t bad as far as counterarguments go.

“Foggy and I have history,” Brett manages. “Might make things weird.”

“History?”

“As in _sexual_ history.”

Matt frowns. “I’ve never smelled you on each other.”

“Okay, 1) I told you to _stop_ doing that, and 2) it was ten years ago. Even your nose isn’t _that_ good.”

Another brush against his prostate sends heat bursting across his spine, and Brett shifts his hips into Matt’s touch. But Matt’s fingers have stilled again as he ponders Brett’s words. Damn it, Murdock. Typical lawyer, gets too caught up in the cross-examination to remember anything else.

“High school sweethearts?” Matt asks, grinning again. Not his sweet _Foggy is so amazing and I love him so much_ grin, but his wicked _I have dirt on you now and this pleases my cold, empty, defense attorney soul_ grin _._ Bastard.

“No,” Brett laughs. “ _God_ no. Friends-with-benefits: kind of like us, but think 18 and hormonal.  It was the summer before college, and we decided we might as well put our sexual tension to good use.”

“How was it?”

Brett snorts at the slight twist that mars Matt’s mouth. “For God’s sake, would you stop being jealous of 18-year-old me? Or 18-year-old Foggy -- I can’t really tell with you, to be honest. How do you think it was? We were _18_ , it was awkward as hell. There’s a reason we don’t talk about it.”

“But you’re not 18 anymore,” Matt points out. “It wouldn’t have to be awkward if you did it again.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Brett lifts his hips pointedly, and Matt rolls his eyes but continues thrusting his fingers in and out of Brett. They’re past the point where Brett needs any more prep, but Brett kind of doubts they’re capable of continuing this conversation while fucking. Which is fine, Brett can wait. Fingers feel nice too, especially if said fingers happen to have super _whatever-_ Matt-calls-it and are unerringly good at knowing where Brett needs to be touched.

“Still don’t know why you want me involved,” Brett pants. “You and I don’t want each other romantically; Foggy and I _definitely_ don’t want each other romantically. Makes more sense for you to just be with him.”

“I’m not sure if it does,” Matt says slowly. “Look, if you don’t want to do this, then yeah, I’ll just try to be with Foggy and that will be good, but….Foggy and I, we-- we’re better sometimes, with you there. You’re...you’re practical.”

Brett raises an eyebrow, even though he’s pretty sure that the action is lost on Matt. Or maybe it isn’t. Maybe Matt can hear his individual eyebrow hairs move or some such shit -- what does Brett know?

“Not a word anyone has ever used to describe me in bed, but okay,” Brett says.

“No, I mean-” Matt sighs. “Do you remember the night we told Foggy about all this? How betrayed he felt at first?”

Brett kind of _wishes_ he didn’t remember it. Because really, there’s no way to avoid sounding awkward while saying:  _oh don’t worry, Foggy, Matt didn’t betray your trust and tell me he was Daredevil, I found out on my own. You know, after we screwed in an alleyway._ Most awkward moment of Brett’s life, and that’s including the night in said alleyway.

“Yeah?” Brett says evenly.

Matt’s quiet for a moment. His fingers move absently inside Brett, but they’ve slowed to the point where Brett hardly notices them. The action has become disconnected from Matt’s facial expressions, his words, his emotions. It’s once again lost its sexiness, but Brett is okay with it this time. Some conversations are more important than all that.

“For a moment, it was _just_ like that night he found out about me,” Matt says. “I thought, ‘he’s going to leave and this time...this time he won’t come back.’ And I didn’t know how to explain it to him, but _you_ did. You made it easier.”

“You can be direct with him, Matt,” Brett says softly. “You know that’s what he wants.”

Matt ducks his head down. “It’s hard. I’m trying but...after all that we’ve been through, _everything_ is personal with Foggy and me, _everything_ , so I think that we...or maybe just I get caught up in it. But that night, you cut through it all and said what actually mattered. You...streamlined the process, I suppose.

Brett rubs a hand across his face. “If _that’s_ your process for working through this Daredevil bullshit, you might want to reevaluate it.”

“We’re trying. _I’m_ trying.”

“I know you are,” Brett sighs. “And I’m glad that I can help you and Foggy work through your baggage, but that’s not all I want to be. I started this with you because it’s easy -- _how_ it’s easy with you of all people, I don’t know, but it is. But I’m not here to third wheel it and play relationship counselor to you and Foggy, alright? So unless you can give me a reason-”

“You’re our friend.”

Brett blinks. He knows that he considers Matt a friend, but Matt’s never exactly said the words back. Not that he’s necessarily needed to: what they have is casual, and Brett knows that a lot of things go unspoken for Matt. Hearing it in this context though, like it’s some sort of proposal -- and hell, it _is_ a kind of proposal, even if it’s not a romantic one -- is enough to shut Brett up.

“You’ve been hanging out with us more,” Matt continues. “Ever since Foggy found out about us, you’ve joined us for beers, and you and Foggy watch the news on my couch, and...you haven’t been feeling like a third wheel, right? Have I been reading that wrong?”

“No. You haven’t,” Brett says. Amazingly enough it’s true. Brett’s pretty sure that most people in the vicinity of Matt and Foggy’s chemistry automatically become third wheels: Karen being the only exception that Brett knows about. And Brett, apparently. Maybe it’s because he’s known Foggy so long, or maybe because he knows about Daredevil -- or maybe it’s just because he’s seen Matt naked, who knows.

(Actually, it’s probably because he once saw Matt trip over himself while trying to get out of the Daredevil costume. Brett’s pretty sure that it’s impossible to witness someone mess up that ridiculously, have sex with them anyway, and still remain a third wheel in that person’s life.)

“It’s been nice, with the three of us,” Matt says. “It’s felt right, hasn’t it?”

Brett thinks about arguing with Foggy about the Yankees, about teaming up with him to tease Matt about his costume, about having sex with Matt. He thinks about falling asleep when Foggy and Matt start talking about liens, only to be woken up minutes later to be driven home by Foggy.

Brett groans. “I can’t believe I’m actually considering it.”

Matt smiles. “Thank you.”

“I haven’t said yes.”

“Of course not.”

“The only reason I’m thinking about it at all is because the sex is amazing.”

“Well, I have been told that I’m very good.”

“Yeah, you’d be better if you didn’t forget that we were having sex right in the middle of us _having sex_.”

Matt grins before kissing his thighs again. He crooks his fingers before replacing them with his cock, apparently eager to demonstrate _exactly_ why Brett should consider this weird threesome.

Brett has to admit, the case he makes is a compelling one.

 

***

 

Brett actually _blushes_ the next time he sees Foggy, which is clearly Matt’s fault. Before Matt proposed his little idea, Brett had been perfectly happy forgetting all about that weird, hormonal summer before college. Now look at him: blushing in front of a God damn _defense attorney._

“Hey, Brett,” Foggy says, like someone who can forget past hook-ups and move on with his life without his vigilante fuck buddy messing it up.

“Foggy,” Brett says. He congratulates himself for how disinterested he sounds -- he doesn’t even look up from his paperwork. “Need something?”

“You know me so well. Matt and I need the Lopez arrest record. _And_ I have a little something for your mom-”

That _does_ make Brett look up from his desk. “Foggy,” he sighs. “Not while I’m at the front desk. Or not _ever_ , preferably. My mom doesn’t need that shit.”

Foggy rolls his eyes. He opens the bag he’s holding to reveal- “Keep your hair on, it’s just scones. From the bakery you and your mom like.” Foggy frowns. “You feeling okay? You look a bit sick.”

“Gee, thanks,” Brett mutters. He wonders exactly when he told Foggy what his favorite bakery is. Might’ve been the last time he did shots with the Nelson and Murdock crew -- dear God, that night. His head actually throbs at the memory of the hangover that followed that night. Brett really needs to stop drinking with these guys.

“I mean, obviously you look as ravishing as ever,” Foggy says, valiantly trying to eject his foot from his mouth -- with as much skill as ever. “But, you know, you’re also a bit, uh, sweaty and...crap, I basically just told you that you look like shit, didn’t I?”

Brett closes his eyes for a moment. Lord help him for considering a threesome with this man and Daredevil.

“I’ll pretend that apology was well-phrased and considerate,” Brett says. “You know, how a lawyer would talk. I’m not sick, Foggy, just tired.”

“Want me to bring you a coffee?” Foggy offers. “Would go great with the scones.”

Brett blames Matt’s sex prowess and Foggy’s excellent taste in scones -- and hell, Foggy’s sex prowess too, because he was pretty decent even in high school -- for saying yes.

“I like frappuccinos,” Brett says.

“And I like being able to pay my rent in full -- sadly these two desires are not compatible.”

Brett snorts, but before Foggy can walk away, he says, “Hey. Thanks, man.”

Foggy smiles. “Not a problem.”

Twenty minutes later, Brett’s sipping at a frappuccino and trying to act like he hasn’t already made his decision. Twenty-one minutes later, he sees that the scones are blueberry -- his favorite -- and abandons the pretense in order to text Matt to plan a night in for the three of them. 

 

***

 

They get together at Matt’s apartment that weekend, and Matt brings up the subject with as much delicacy as he did when he first brought it up with Brett. Which, to be fair, it about what Brett expected. But it’s Matt’s idea and Matt’s love interest they’re talking to, so it’s only right that Matt does the talking.

Foggy, to his credit, does _not_ choke on the beer he’s drinking, but it’s a near thing. Brett pats him on the back anyway, hoping that Foggy doesn’t suffocate due to his best friend proposing a threesome. That’d be a bit awkward to explain to an ambulance.

“You want me to have sex,” Foggy finally manages, “with _both_ of you?”

Matt shrugs, but even Brett can see the nervousness behind the gesture.

“You did say that you were turned on by the thought of us in the alleyway,” Matt says.

Foggy runs a hand through his hair and squints at them both. “Wait, is that what this is? You’re inviting me into your alley-sex club?”

“ _No_ ,” Brett says, at the same time as Matt mutters, “It was _one_ time.”

Brett is about to say that you only _need_ to have sex in an alleyway one time for your friends to harass you about it, but then he notices how flushed Matt’s face is. Matt shifts where he stands, not from awkwardness this time, but probably from arousal. Brett knows how he feels. He’s desperately trying not to picture the scene himself. Because _no_. He and Matt agreed that alley sex is irresponsible and stupid, and that they would not partake in it again.

“Okay,” Foggy says slowly. Now he’s blushing too and _damn it_ , Murdock, now they’re all thinking about it. “Then what are you asking me? If I want to be a part of a fuck buddy trio?”

Matt shakes his head. “No, I, um...I want more than that from you, Foggy. I’ve wanted more for-- for quite awhile now.”

Foggy is quiet for a long moment as he gapes at Matt. But then-- then a smile breaks out upon his face, bright and clear as he huffs out a laugh. It’s the same smile Matt gets when he’s thinking about Foggy.

Brett forgets sometimes, that even with Matt’s enhanced senses, the man can’t read facial expressions, can’t see Foggy’s happiness. So he’s startled when Matt timidly says “Foggy? Is that a good laugh, or...”

But Foggy isn’t. He just shakes his head and scoots closer to Matt on the couch.

“ _Yes,_ that’s a good laugh,” he says, framing Matt’s face in his hands. “Of course it’s a good laugh.”

Matt grins, and leans in to kiss Foggy. The kiss is slow, sweet, so unlike the kisses that Matt usually initiates. There’s no adrenaline here, no rush: just exploration and bliss. And maybe Brett should feel like he’s intruding at this point, but he doesn’t. Really, Brett just feels satisfied that Matt trusts him enough to see him like this: pliant and soft in Foggy’s arms.

“Wow,” Foggy whispers, when they break the kiss.

“Yeah,” Matt says dreamily.

Brett snorts, which seems to remind Foggy that he’s still there. Brett can’t blame him: he knows firsthand how distracting Matt’s kisses can be.

“Okay,” Foggy says. “We’re definitely doing that again, but hold on one second because-” he turns to where Brett’s standing beside them “-I’m still kind of confused about all this. Matt said you want this too...do you, you know, _like_ me, or…” Foggy sounds incredibly confused. Brett knows the feeling well.

“No,” Brett says firmly. “I don’t think I could survive a romance with either of you two weirdos.”

“Whew, thank God. Not that I don’t like you, but…”

“High school,” Brett finishes for him.

“High school,” Foggy agrees. “Okay then, let’s see if I have this straight. Matt wants to be my boyfriend, and I want to be his boyfriend. Brett doesn’t want to be boyfriends with either of us, but we all want him to have sex with us. Am I right?”

“Sounds like it,” Brett says with a shrug. “Matt?”

Matt nods. “That’s what I want.”

“Then okay: it’s what I want too. And you thought our star-crossed fuck-buddy-mance was a bad idea back in the day,” Foggy teases Brett.

“It was a _terrible_ idea back in the day.”

“And now?”

Brett shrugs. “Eh. It’s grown on me.”

Foggy grins. He gets up off the couch to stand in front of Brett. “Has it now?” he murmurs, before closing the distance between their lips.

It’s not like their high school kisses. Those were awkward and frantic, and so full of impatience and passion that there was no room for anything else. This is teasing, slow. They take their time with each other: just press chaste kisses to each other’s mouths at first, until Foggy’s tongue finally parts Brett’s lips and they deepen the kiss.

“Again: wow,” Foggy says, when they come up for air.

Brett nods shakily. “You’ve really, uh, improved since high school.”

“Oh whatever -- I was _amazing_ in high school and you know it!”

Brett’s retort is interrupted by Matt letting out a drawn out groan. When Brett looks over, he finds Matt leaning back against the couch as he rubs his hand against his crotch.

At first, Brett had felt a bit guilty for kissing Foggy, for giving Matt a show when he can’t even _see_ the show. But now he notices the way that Matt grabs at the sofa cushion, the way he grinds his hips into his hand, and realizes that Matt has _plenty_ of other ways to sense what they’re getting up to.

Even if those ways _do_ involve listening to heartbeats and smelling their erections or something, but whatever. If it makes Matt happy, Brett can be flexible.

Well, he can be flexible about _most_ things.

“Bedroom,” Brett says firmly. “I’m not having sex against the wall with two people involved.”

“You guys usually have sex against the wall?” Foggy sputters, which, yeah. Brett understands that sputter. Because as much as he would usually prefer to be in a bed, fucking against a wall is a surprisingly appealing concept when Matt Murdock is involved.

“Next time, Foggy,” Matt calls, already running toward the bedroom, shedding his shirt as he goes.

Foggy turns to Brett. “Is he always like-”

“Yes,” Brett says. “He’s a terror.”

“Heard that!” comes from the bedroom, and Brett wants to laugh. Yeah, Matt Murdock is an absolute terror: but here Brett and Foggy are, grinning like they couldn’t be happier about it.

They follow Matt into the bedroom to find him already sprawled across the bed, naked and palming his cock. Matt’s head tilts, and he smirks. “Both of your hearts are beating faster.”

“That’s because you’re smoking,” Foggy informs him solemnly. “And because Brett is smoking. And I don’t think I considered how long I’d be able to last in a threesome full of hot people.”

“You know what would be fun though,” Brett muses. “Seeing how long _Matt’s_ going to last in a threesome full of hot people.”

Foggy kisses Brett again, and this time it’s _not_ so sweet or chaste: Brett’s pretty sure the guy tasted his tonsils during that kiss. And he thought _Matt_ was a devil in the sack.

“You’re a genius, Brett,” Foggy breathes, resting his forehead against Brett’s. “What do you say, Matt: down for letting us take you apart?”

Matt’s hand jerks on his cock. “I-if you think you can.”

“Oh, I _know_ we can,” Brett says. To Foggy, he adds, “He’s pretty sensitive, you know -- maybe because of all that chemical shit, I don’t know. You could touch him right now and he’d nearly be there. Or suck him: he makes pretty noises when you do that.”

“Well I _am_ a fan of pretty noises,” Foggy says. He gives Brett a quick kiss, then gets on the bed with Matt and sucks just the tip of his cock into his mouth.

Matt jumps at the contact like he’s just been electrocuted.  “ _Hnnng._ Foggy,” he pants, twisting the bedsheets in his hands. “ _Foggy_.”

Foggy pulls off and gives Brett an admiring glance. “ _Very_ pretty noises.”

“Told you,” Brett says. “He likes just a little bit of teeth too, if you’re willing.”

Foggy is apparently _very_ willing. Brett can tell whenever Foggy lightly brushes his teeth against Matt, because Matt will whimper and bury his head into the sheets like he’s coming apart.

It’s a bit different from how Brett and Matt blow each other. Those times are usually adrenaline-fueled, driven by a frantic search for pleasure. But Foggy sucks as sweetly as he kisses, exploring Matt at a pace that sends Matt keening for more. It’s love, really, and Brett finds himself a bit awed that he gets to witness it. Hell, he gets to _participate_ in it. He murmurs words of encouragement to Matt, instructs Foggy on how to take Matt’s cock, all the while stroking himself at the sight of them.

“Perfect, Foggy,” Brett says. Foggy’s lips are slick and swollen around Matt’s cock, and Matt writhes under Foggy’s ministrations. “God, you two are gorgeous. We make a handsome threeway.”

Foggy snorts around Matt’s cock, but manages to continue sucking instead of delivering a retort.

Matt, on the other hand, turns his head toward him and breathes, “B-Brett?”

Brett sits on the side of the bed opposite from Foggy, and runs careful fingers through Matt’s hair. “What do you need, Matt?”

Matt butts his head into Brett’s touch and whines. “M-mouth.”

Foggy pulls off. “Do you want Brett to take a turn?”

“No, no, please keep going. If you want,” Matt says, quickly shaking his head. He turns to Brett. “Your mouth.”

“You want me to kiss you?”

Matt nods, then cries out as Foggy takes him into his mouth again.

Brett looks down to see Foggy eyeing them both -- probably enjoying their show just as much as Brett’s been enjoying theirs. It’s hard to grin with a cock in your mouth, but the smile lines around Foggy’s eyes crinkle, and Brett can’t help but smile back. Damn defense attorneys, blowing Brett’s mind in bed and making him _smile_ while they do it.

Worth it though, for the way Matt reacts when Brett leans down to kiss him. Matt trembles beneath him, pants into Brett’s mouth while Brett kisses him slowly and sweetly to match Foggy’s rhythm.

“I-I’m gonna,” Matt gasps into the kiss. Both he and Brett moan when Foggy doesn’t pull off, instead gamely sucking until Matt shudders with his release.

“Shit,” Brett says, after he presses another kiss to Matt’s bright, bruised lips. “That was…”

“Amazing,” Foggy says, his voice a bit hoarse. “Oh my God, Matt. _Brett_.”

Foggy moves so that he can kiss them both. He takes his time with each of them, kissing Brett first -- probably so that Matt doesn’t have to taste his own come. Of course, that means that _Brett_ has to taste Matt’s come, but he’s not the one with the super taste buds, so he supposes he can make that sacrifice.

“Did we blow your mind, Murdock?” Brett says. He grins down at Matt, who is only now starting to catch his breath.

“F-Foggy blew a bit more than that,” Matt chuckles.

Brett rolls his eyes. “Get used to puns in bed,” he says to Foggy. “It’s going to happen a lot.”

“Psh, Matt is a _novice_ \-- I am the true pun master in this firm,” Foggy proclaims. Brett groans. Oh lord, now there’s _two_ of them.

Matt taps Foggy on the arm, thankfully interrupting his pun triumph. “I want to blow you now,” he demands. “I’ve never -- Jesus, Foggy, I’ve never even _tasted_ you.”

Brett would laugh at how quickly Foggy sheds his clothing, but to be honest, he’s right behind him. It takes some rearranging -- and an elbow in the side, _thanks,_ Foggy -- but soon Foggy is on his back, with Matt on all fours over him and Brett kneeling over Matt’s ass.

“Can I-” Brett begins, but Matt just nods before going to town on Foggy.

Brett rolls his eyes. As patient as ever. He gives Matt’s hips a pinch in retaliation. Predictably, Matt only moans and mouths Foggy’s dick even more urgently in response, and _shit_ , they are really not going to last long.

Brett moves one hand to Matt’s ass -- and damn, no wonder Matt’s religious, because Brett’s not sure it’s possible to be endowed with an ass like that and _not_ believe in a higher power. Brett holds Matt steady as he slides his cock into the cleft of Matt’s ass, gasping at the same time as Matt shudders beneath him.

“Oh my God,” Foggy breathes, though whether it’s from the sight of them or from Matt’s mouth, Brett can’t be sure.

Brett would wager that his view rivals Foggy’s though: Foggy Nelson, panting against the sheets as Matt Murdock slides his lips along that cock while pushing himself back against Brett rather insistently. Brett must have been a saint in a past life.

Brett drags his hips against Matt in a long, rough movement. He jerks his hips faster and faster, moving in time to the whimpers and grunts that Matt makes around Foggy’s cock, to the gasps and moans that Foggy utters as he gets closer and closer to climax. Brett squeezes Matt’s hip hard and leans in to press sloppy kisses along his back. He thrusts and grinds until his abdomen feels white hot: probably glowing like a supernova in Matt’s world on fire.

When he comes, it’s all over Matt’s back, and Matt groans with Foggy still in his mouth. Brett nuzzles a dry patch of Matt’s back, kisses his skin. He runs gentle hands down Matt’s sides as he narrates Foggy’s facial expressions.

“He’s making an o-face,” Brett says, when Foggy’s nearly there. “His mouth is open, his eyes are shut, and he’s all red in the face.”

Matt pulls off only seconds later, come dripping from his lips. He makes a face and wipes it off. “Sounds attractive,” he says, but his voice is filled with wonderment as he no doubt imagines what Foggy must look like.

“It actually is,” Brett says. He leans over to run a hand through Foggy’s hair before collapsing onto the bed. “We’re an attractive bunch. Good for us.”

“Very good for us,” Foggy says, shifting so that he and Brett are parallel. Matt joins their fuckpile, lying down face-first on the other side of Brett.

“You got come on my back,” Matt grumbles into the pillow.

“Didn’t hear you complaining at the time,” Brett says.

Foggy rolls his eyes. He manages to get up -- clearly the true hero in this threesome, sorry, Daredevil -- and grab a towel from Matt’s bathroom.

“You’re beautiful, Matty,” Foggy breathes, carefully wiping Matt off. “I think you need come on your back more often, actually, it’s a good look for you.”

“I think we’re up to the task,” Brett says, smirking until Matt ‘accidentally’ elbows him in response.

“Was that you?” Matt says innocently. “Blind, you know. Can’t always tell where you are.”

“Little shit,” Brett grumbles, shoving Matt away. Matt lets himself be moved, but scootches back over to Brett only moments after.

“Both of you are little shits,” Foggy declares. “And I kind of love it. Oh my God. I still can’t believe that just happened. I’m not dreaming this right? That really just happened?”

“Just roll with it,” Brett advises. “That feeling doesn’t really go _away_ , but it’s easier just to go with it.”

“Works for me,” Foggy says happily. “This was a good idea, Matty. You’re a true scholar.”

“I hoped that it would be good,” Matt sighs in relief. “I-I didn’t know for sure, but...I like you and I like Brett, and Brett said that it could work. He said-- he said that you loved me a bit.”

“More than a bit, Matty,” Foggy breathes.

“Really?”

“Uh, yeah. I thought it was pretty obvious?”

“I wasn’t sure, but...you too. I mean, I feel the same.”

Brett smiles to himself: aware that it probably perfectly mirrors the dopey grins that Foggy and Matt are giving each other right now. But, hey, his friends-with-benefits are happy and in love: Brett’s allowed to be a bit dopey about it.

He gives them a minute to coo over each other before he delicately says, “This is very sweet, and I’m happy for both of you. But could you please go declare your love somewhere _else_? Some of us just got the living daylights fucked out of us and are trying to _sleep_.”

Matt’s laugh is low in Brett’s ear. Foggy leans in to plant a wet, smacking kiss against his cheek. Brett wrinkles his nose and wipes the saliva off his face, but when Foggy throws an arm around him and when Matt presses a kiss to his back, Brett closes his eyes and lets himself lean into the contact.

He still can’t believe that this is his life. First his vigilante fuck buddy turned out to be Matt Murdock of all people, and now he has _two_ fuck buddies who just so happen to be in love with each other. It seems like it should be more complicated than it is. Like Brett should want to move on and find something simpler, or at least something that involved less vigilantism and fewer puns.

But, quite honestly: fuck simple. Brett likes this. So instead of getting up, Brett absently pats Matt’s thigh, leans his forehead against Foggy’s shoulder, and quickly falls asleep.

 


End file.
